


Two for Admission

by Scusi



Category: True Detective
Genre: Bottom Marty, Dirty Talk, M/M, Top Rust - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 20:31:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scusi/pseuds/Scusi
Summary: "There were certain things Rust needed that he couldn't admit to."Turns out Marty's words to the detectives are pretty true for him too.





	Two for Admission

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[translation] 双重告白Two for Admission Two for Admission](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623569) by [hieroglyphics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hieroglyphics/pseuds/hieroglyphics)



 

 

 

After Carcosa, Marty is bringing Rust home. That's a given. The man has no one else but Doumain that Marty knows of.

Marty has a modest home - which seems bigger for all its emptiness - so it's not a problem. More than not a problem, it's actually a pleasure. And it makes Marty's cheeks heat to think of him proudly showing Rust around all his things - his whole life really - like some damned kid begging for a pat on the head.

Obviously, Rust is gonna think it's shit. It's just who the man is. Still, it's somewhat thrilling to know they'll be sharing the same space again. That Marty isn't going to be coming home to an empty shell of a home every night.

There's something else there though, something weighted and hopeful that twists Marty's stomach up in knots and sets his heart thumping. He brushes it off, doesn't acknowledge it. Surely, it's nothing.

 

 

"So, just, you know, make yourself at home but don't trash the place." Marty says jokingly.

"I wouldn't dream of it Marty." Rust says blandly, something twitching at his lips that takes Marty a moment to realize is a smile.

He smiles widely back, and is taken aback when Rust's mouth settles firmly into a small smile in return.

His mouth goes dry.

Not that Rust is never not handsome but Marty realizes the smile adds a whole new dimension which he quickly dismisses just as his stomach flips.

He clears his throat and declares that he's going to put coffee on.

 

 

"I only got the one bed. So, I'll, uh, take the couch until we can get you one."

Marty's not the one with the worst injuries after all.

Rust just exhales sharply.

"I'm not taking your bed Marty."

"Yes you are." Marty's in no mood to argue about this. And in Marty's opinion, Rust's in no condition to argue.

Rust looks at Marty though with something like intent, holds his gaze until Marty starts to feel uncomfortable.

"Just sleep in it with me then."

Marty almost chokes on his own spit but does a good job of covering it up with a cough. Suddenly, he doesn't know what to do with his hands, wrings them. Rust's gaze drops before he continues.

"It's not like we haven't slept in the car on cases or bunked in hotel rooms Marty."

"Sure." Marty agrees, before he realizes it seems like he's agreeing to it all. His face reddens in that sad, ruddy way Marty's gotten used to since becoming old. But of course, it can always get redder.

"Not like I'm saying we should fuck."

The words are as outlandish as the old Rust would put forth, sure, but they have a decidedly different spin. Marty reminds himself it's been ten years after all. And at the very least, Rust looks a little flushed when he says them.

 

 

_Rust's problem was that there were certain things he needed that he couldn't admit to._

Those were the words Marty had told to the detectives. And they probably still rang true. Rust could never admit that he needed love, affection, and the barest hint of human connection. He'd always played it like he was a robot, like he didn't feel things.

It probably had to do with his daughter.

The thought pained Marty. But he was bound to be pained whenever he thought of Rust and his life. Of all the pain and how, Rust didn't deserve any of it. Like Maggie had once said, Rust was a good man. Better than Marty. Rust was gorgeous, interesting and wildly intelligent. The heart of it always being though, that he couldn't show weakness or allow himself to be vulnerable. And in that way he distanced himself from everyone.

Marty was going to do better, _be_ better. Rust had opened up to him. Even so far as being vulnerable and Marty wasn't going to abuse it. So maybe Rust couldn't say, but he needed a friend.

Marty was going to be that friend.

He promised that to himself, confined to the hospital bed, surrounded by his loved ones that he'd done nothing to deserve.

 

 

"Which side?" Rust says, hobbling his sorry self up to Marty's double bed.

"Doesn't matter." 

"Well which side do you usually sleep on?"

"The right." Marty answers reluctantly, feeling a little foolish.

Rust is still in his hospital gown. Marty in his t-shirt and boxers.

Rust settles with a loud, disgruntled groan and Marty is at his side the next instant, reaching for his waist to check the bandages. Rust swats him away initially before dropping his hand and turning to open up his body more to Marty so he can have a look.

Everything looks fine. No stitches have popped, there's no blood seeping through the bandages where Marty's fingers are worrying at the edges.

Marty's a little disturbed when he looks up and Rust is watching him with hooded eyes.

"You're getting a little obsessive partner." Rust says quietly.

"No." Marty huffs in denial, although it's a little bit more of a yes.

For some reason the moment feels odd, all heavy like. Marty shrugs it off, begins to withdraw and settle himself on his side of the bed.

Rust almost rolls his eyes when Marty pulls away, he has that air about him.

"What?" Marty snaps, immediately.

"Oh nothing Marty." Rust says, but it's amused in that muted way that Marty's missed.

"Nothing, hey?" Marty teases back and Rust's gaze goes soft.

The weird vibe is back and Marty shifts uncomfortably, draws the top sheet up to his chin. His breath goes still. He doesn't look away from Rust though.

"Know what I realized Marty?" Rusts speaks quietly, voice rumbling low.

"What's that?" Marty asks despite himself, worried that he isn't going to like the answer.

"That I could have had you anytime I wanted. I mean, you were always a closed book. So tightly clinging to these ideas you had about yourself. Framing them in a way that felt acceptable to you, even if it wasn't true. But what you really were, well, you couldn't help that. Couldn't hide it either, except from yourself. I always knew. Got things wrong though with my assumptions about you. Maybe I was scared of myself, of what I would do if I knew it was possible. So I convinced myself you'd never accept it."

Marty's mind gets stuck on the first sentence. _Could have had you anytime I wanted_ looping round and round in his head. Face hot.

"Am I scaring you?" Rust asks after a moment.

"I-" Marty begins but nothing jumps forward.

_Could have had you anytime I wanted._

"Marty?" Rust is frowning at him, but he isn't retreating. He's waiting, patiently, Marty realizes.

"And uh, do you...want me now?" The words are a little strangled.

"I do." Rusts admits lowly.

Marty maybe squirms a little. His heart is thundering in his chest. Then Rust is touching him, reaching an arm out towards him, pulling him in until they're settled side by side. Propped up against the headboard.

"Don't be nervous Marty." Rust says, hand sliding up Marty's thigh under the sheet.

Marty is nervous, he can't help it. He doesn't know how to respond to all of the things Rust has said so he doesn't. He'd say how Rust has made him feel, how frustrated, how unsure and out of his depth - all these years - but he knows Rust must already know. Probably better than Marty himself.

"Rust-" Marty manages to choke out when Rust's hand brushes too close.

"This alright Marty?" he asks, and he seems tired already, worn out. "Just this? Please just let me?"

Marty nods.

It's electric, Rusts' fingers brushing across skin, fingertips pushing at the hem of his boxers. Marty makes a small noise somewhere in the back of his throat.

"Bet I could make you cum without touching you." Rust says darkly to which Marty has no response.

Marty feels like he's nearly there.

"Yeah," Rust continues, pulling the sheet away, "You're panting for it. You really like this, don't you Marty? No shame in it. Bet you'd like a dick in your ass just as much."

Marty keens and his hips jerk, he can't help it. He starts panting open mouthed and wide eyed, watching Rust who is watching him back, hand slowly stroking up and down his thigh. His own dick is hard and tented under his boxers but he's too aroused to be embarrassed.

Rust notes it but doesn't fixate, just talks low and sultry, methodical.

"That small rosebud of yours being pressed into. Kissed by a leaking cock head just trying to make it's way inside-"

Marty moans low and loud, hips pressing circles into the bed beneath.

"Rust that's filthy." he hears himself say weakly.

"aw, you don't like that?" Rust asks, all false hurt but so much that Marty nearly protests.

He doesn't need to though because Rust continues anyway.

"Maybe you'd like to be doing the kissing. Lips pressed to my dick. All shy like but you'd let me inside, wouldn't you? You'd tip your head back and open wide."

It's probably the suggestion of it being _Rust_ that gets to him so fast. Rust's hand moves faster up and down his thigh, higher too - working all the way under the hem and brushing the place where his thighs meet.

"I'd use you rough Marty. Face all red, spit dripping down your chin. You'd blow just from having your mouth fucked. I wouldn't have to do any work at all. The only thing I'd have to do to get you off is give you a mouthful of cum."

Marty's cums right then and there in his boxers.

"But, I mean, in these scenarios, you'd kiss me right?" Marty asks plainly, pantingly, not even waiting until he's recovered.

That's answered by Rust leaning over and sealing their mouths together. It's, in a word, perfect. Eventually, though, they need to breath.

Marty can feel Rust hard against him.

"Want me to take care of that?" he asks.

"Next time." Rust says. "Tired, Marty."

Which is fair, Rust looks overly worn. Like he's about to keel over, even. He's got stitches. Still, it makes Marty feel...if not inadequate, selfish.

"Thinking we should have started this another time." Marty says in self recrimination.

"Don't think I could have waited much longer." Rust says, collapsing into the pillows.

That makes Marty feel a little better.

"How'd you..." Marty begins but thinks better of it.

"How'd I what?" Rust ask because he isn't one to let things go.

"I mean...that was some awful dirty talk. How'd you even come up with that?"

Rust holds Marty's gaze as he answers and somehow that makes heat run through Marty's body.

"Guess it's been on my mind a while."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
